Maxioms by Elizabeth Bowen
Fate is not an eagle, it creeps like a rat.
Fate is not an eagle, it creeps like a rat.
Intimacies between women often go backwards, beginning in revelations and ending in small talk without loss of esteem
Intimacies between women often go backwards, beginning in revelations and ending in small talk without loss of esteem
The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent read more
The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends. The friend becomes a traitor by breaking, however unwillingly or sadly, out of our own zone: a hard judgment is passed on him, for all the pleas of the heart.
The charm, one might say the genius of memory, is that it is choosy, chancy, and temperamental: it rejects the read more
The charm, one might say the genius of memory, is that it is choosy, chancy, and temperamental: it rejects the edifying cathedral and indelibly photographs the small boy outside, chewing a hunk of melon in the dust.
Some people are molded by their admirations, others by their hostilities.
Some people are molded by their admirations, others by their hostilities.
